


Sender address not valid

by thefrog (larana)



Series: Hey hey, Akaashi! [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series, Really it's totally angst, read it at your own risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larana/pseuds/thefrog
Summary: [You]...you are incorrigible.[Bokuto-san]Yeah!!! But you still love me, right?[Bokuto-san]Akaaashiiii?????[Bokuto-san]DON’T U LOVE ME ANYMORE???!!??!![Bokuto-san]They just called my flight, gotta go. My heart is broken tho[Bokuto-san]Naaah just kidding. I still love you and my love will be enough for both of us, ah!![Bokuto-san]Later!![You]I was taking a shower. Have a nice flight :)[You]And please text me as soon as you land.





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**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. So. I dit it again. Oooops.  
> Really, I don't know what my fricking problem is with those two. I mean, they are a Pure Joy and they deserve the most romantic, happy and fluffy fanfictions, so I don't really know why, when it comes to them, I always end up with something angsty.  
> Gomen!  
> Also, this time the angst component is stronger then ever, so, like I said in the tag zone, proceed at yout own risk.  
> Also #2, I actually wrote this about a month ago, but I've been waiting until now because this stuff is not beta-ed and I was kinda recluctant to post it, but then I said to myself "hey, I can learn from the mistakes, right?" so here we are.
> 
> Have a nice (?!) reading!

 

 

 

Bokuto-san sneaked in his room once again.

He pretends to sleep next to him, his hands resting on his chest, but Keiji doesn’t buy it. There are so many details that give him away: his quick breath, his flickering eyelids, his mouth twisting as if he’s trying to restrain the laughing that is trembling behind his lips.

“Bokuto-san, I know you are not sleeping.”

An eye quickly rises open and finally he smiles.

“I can’t fool you, Akaashi, uh?”

“Mh. It’s late,” he says and put his legs off the edge of his bed, shaking when the cold air of the first morning slides against his bare skin. Bokuto-san lets out a soft whistle - it’s like he appreciates what he’s looking at.

Keiji wishes he would not do it. Keiji wishes he would go away.

But, in the end, Bokuto-san _stays_.

 

Twenty minutes later, Keiji buttons up his uniform's shirt and smooths some invisible folds on his pants. He ties up his tie and he dares to look through the mirror. Bokuto-san is still laying lazily on his bed. He looks like he has all the time in the world.

Keiji feels as if he’s chocking.

 

“I have to go.”

“See you later, Akaashi.”

“You should go too.”

“Naaah!”

 

On his desk, crowning a column of books, there’s a newspaper clipping carefully folded. His fingers hesitate over it, paralysed, torn between unfolding the paper and getting away from it.

Keiji is still chocking.

Keiji is already running out the door.

 

.

.

.

 

**SMS > Bokuto-san**

 

 **[Bokuto-san]** Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!

 **[You]** Good morning, Bokuto-san. Are you already at the airport?

 **[Bokuto-san]** Yeah and there are sooooo many people, Akaashi :sadface: and I’m tired and hungry and hot and HUNGRY

 **[You]** Go get some breakfast, then.

 **[Bokuto-san]** BUT I'VE ALREADY DONE

 **[You]** ...you are incorrigible.

 **[Bokuto-san]** Yeah!!! But you still love me, right?

 **[Bokuto-san]** Akaaashiiii?????

 **[Bokuto-san]** DON’T U LOVE ME ANYMORE???!!??!!

 **[Bokuto-san]** They just called my flight, gotta go. My heart is broken tho </3

 **[Bokuto-san]** Naaah just kidding. I still love you and my love will be enough for both of us, ah!!

 **[Bokuto-san]** Later!!

 **[You]** I was taking a shower. Have a nice flight :)

 **[You]** And please text me as soon as you land.

 **[You]** And yes, I still love you. I always will.

 

.

.

.

 

Curls of steam rise from his cup.

Keiji inhales slowly, stirring his coffee. The rain keeps hitting the glass on his left, restlessly, as if it’s trying to catch his attention.

The place is almost empty; it’s six pm and the patrons are just people who was finding shelter from the rain.

In front of him, Bokuto-san let his cheek rests on his palm as he just stares beyond the glass or maybe he’s looking at the way the light of the cars outside bounces from raindrop to raindrop.

All of a sudden, he reaches out to chase a raindrop which is sliding on the glass.

“You know, when I was little I used to imagine the raindrops racing.”

Keiji makes a tiny smile and takes a sip from his cup. The coffee is black and hot, just the way he likes it.

“But, I don’t know why, the raindrop that won was always the one I cheered for. I guess it was a mental thing or something.”

A girl approaches. She hesitates, slightly leant forward, as if she’s going to fly away.

“Akaashi-kun?”

Keiji recognises his classmate. They chat a little and, for a moment, she sets her eyes where Bokuto-san sits and then she looks again at Keiji. Finally, they say goodbye and Keiji feels like he hates her for her skeptic look.

He takes another sip, but his coffee has gone cold.

“I’m going home,” he says as he stands up.

He’s not surprised when Bokuto-san stands up too, following him and chatting nonstop, mostly talking about the girl who was there just few moments ago.

Keiji lets him talk until they arrive in front of Keiji’s front door and, after a short hesitance, he steps aside and allows Bokuto-san to come in.

He shouldn’t, nothing of this makes sense, he and Bokuto-san are not even a thing anymore.

Invisible fingers creep their way on his body and close themselves around his throat.

 

As he opens his room door the newspaper clipping flies away.

Bokuto-san looks at it with curious eyes, but he remains silent.

Keiji pick it and put it back on the books, abruptly letting it go as if it burned.

 

.

.

.

 

Bokuto-san keep coming back.

Every morning, Keiji finds him curled up on his bed. Every night he follow Keiji up to his doorstep.

It doesn’t matter how much distance Keiji tries to put between them; Bokuto-san regains every inch of it.

Keiji is chocking; he can’t get rid of those fingers, of those hands – somehow, they look like Bokuto-san’s.

He can’t go on like this.

He can’t let him squeeze into his life anymore, taking advantage of every crack, every split, every little gap.

Keiji needs to breathe again.

 

“You need to go.”

“Huh?!”

“You can’t keep coming back. It’s… wrong.”

“Since when?” Bokuto-san smiles, but his eyes are full of pain.

“It’s wrong,” Keiji repeats more resolute.

“You really want me to go?”

Keiji hesitates just for _one_ moment. _Just one_.

But he’s already doomed.

He’s already not breathing anymore.

“No,” he hears himself says, his voice sounds like it’s coming from far, far away, from another time – _from another life_. “Stay, Bokuto-san.”

 

.

.

.

 

Everyday, Bokuto-san comes back.

Somehow – Keiji doesn’t know if it’s voluntary or not – he always ends up revolving around that single newspaper clipping, as if he were curious and wanted to take it, read it, or maybe just say something about the photograph inside of it.

He doesn’t, though.

And Keiji, by the other hand, never opens it.

Sometimes, however, he looks at it for hours. Its edges, he ponders, are turning yellow.

The ways the times works are unfamiliar to him, because everything seems to disappear in the blink of an eye but Bokuto-san _stays_ , apparently free from every single time law.

But then, just before he falls asleep, he asks himself if Bokuto-san keeps staying because he follows some other and specific laws.

 

(Keiji’s heart’s ones?)

 

.

.

.

 

The cherry trees are shedding.

Their petals, occasionally, stick themselves into Keiji’s messy hair.

Bokuto-san laughs, he says he finds it extremely romantic and asks him if he remember that time they kissed under a cherry tree because they thought it was a pretty idea.

“Actually, we just ended up spitting a lot of petals. Eww!”

Keiji smiles as he recalls that memory, even if those invisible fingers are now closed tighter around his neck, taking his breathe away.

The desire to go back at that time, at that time when Bokuto-san belonged to him, suddenly flares up and burns him from head to toe, leaving him exposed to the cold april winds, vulnerable and _alone_.

Bokuto-san stops next to him and presses softly a hand on his back.

Keiji feels like he’s _dying._

“Don’t,” he says sharply, but it sounds like a wheeze, it sounds like a prayer. “Don’t touch me, please.”

Bokuto-san clouds but he obliges and moves away.

The air Keiji is waiting for doesn’t come.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

 

.

.

.

 

“I think I should leave.”

“What?”

“I have to go, Akaashi.”

Something rebels in him. It shakes, it screams. _NO! NO! NO!_

Keiji grits his teeth and try to get his breathe under control. “I know.”

“Will you be fine without me?”

Will he be fine without him? Sure. But nothing will ever be the same.

“I think I can do this, Bokuto-san.”

“Can I stay the night? Just for the last time.”

Keiji doesn’t reply. He just slips under the blankets and looks at him, waits for him. Bokuto-san smiles as he lies down next to him and lets his fingers run through Keiji’s hair.

Keiji wishes he could never fall asleep, he wishes he could steal this moment from time and its ruthless laws and keep Bokuto-san like this, forever, forever suspended in this moment where he really can feel Bokuto-san’s breathe on his lips and the soft pressure of his fingers through his hair, because, in the end, the morning will come and Bokuto-san will be gone forever.

 

And then the morning comes.

And Keiji opens his eyes.

And Bokuto-san is no longer here.

 

.

.

.

 

The newspaper clipping is lying unfolded on his rumpled sheets.

Keiji stares at it, stares at it, stares at it.

The sun, beyond the window, is going down.

 

.

.

.

 

**The greatest plane crash in Japan history**

766 victims, no survivors. The famous volleyball national team’s champion Bokuto Koutarou was on board too

 

(In the picture: Bokuto Koutarou, 19 years old. He was headed to Sidney in order to play a very important championship game.

His teammates, his manager and his coach are among the victims as well)

 

.

.

.

 

 **[You]** Did you land? Please text me as soon as you read this.

 **[You]** Koutarou?

 

.

.

.

 

 **[You]** I still love you. I’m sorry if I couldn’t tell you back in time. I miss you every single moment of every single day. It’s like suffocating. I can’t breathe. I wish I could see you again, even for one last time.

 

_Error! Cannot send message: sender address not valid._

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ...here, have a tissue, an orange blanket and a cookie  <3


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